


Desperate measures

by ylc



Series: Pointless [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: (Chapter 4), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Blackmail, Companion Piece, Consent Issues, Dubious Consent, Implied Molstrade, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, No need to read that one though, Omega!Sherlock, Rating for chapter 4 too, Some suicidal thoughts, implied past johnlock, implied past mpreg, implied past mystrade, nothing explicit either, royal!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-25 13:08:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6196279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ylc/pseuds/ylc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Desperate times call for desperate measures.<br/>A tale about a proposal, an engagement, a wedding day, a wedding night and a lot of desperate decisions.</p><p>Companion piece for chapter 11 to 14 of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5673097/chapters/14107001">Pointless thoughts</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Desperate times

**Author's Note:**

> So, here’s the promised companion piece! This one is going to cover a few chapters of the main fic, so I’ll be posting them as the main fic goes. Mind the tags, since this is bound to be darker than the main fic, particularly on the consent issues (not particularly on this chapter, though)  
> However, it’s my intention to really get into Sherlock’s head to figure out what exactly he’s thinking during the events of the main fic and hopefully make the whole thing a lot more understandable and less...sad? I don’t really know how to explain it.  
> Anyway, enjoy?

_ I’ll keep my promise. _

It’s a fanciful thought, that they’ll be seeing each other again. It’ll never become a reality, but pretending it will seems to give them both strength to carry on. Sherlock presses the letter to his lips, feeling tears streaming down his cheeks and he holds back a sob, his heart aching beyond words.

God, how he misses him.

He knows he can’t keep the letter. It doesn’t say anything really and it’s not signed, but better to proceed with caution. By now Father thinks John Watson is most definitely dead and it won’t do to alert him of the truth. He can’t risk the letter to be found and so what he must do…

He can’t bring himself to burn it just yet. It’s silly, he knows, because it’s just a scrap of paper, but the meaning beneath it… he can’t. Not just yet.

He starts toying with the wooden ring that came with the letter. He shouldn’t keep it either, but he also knows he won’t be burning it. It’s roughly carved, the one who did it had very little skill, but the drawings along it are recognizable enough. Two clasped hands holding a crowned heart.

He smiles sadly. His John was always so sentimental.

He places the letter on top of his desk and picks up the other lying there. He scrunches his nose a little as he rereads the few lines on it, his mind already swirling again with its implications. It’s not the first time Duke Moriarty has asked for the chance to court him, but it’s the first time he’s given the proposal any actual thought.

His heart will forever belong to John, but his body isn’t his to begin with and so it’ll eventually belong to someone else. He knows his brother would argue that that someone doesn’t (shouldn’t) have to be James Moriarty, but well… Sherlock has considered the idea.

He’s 19 now, a little above the average mating age. However, Mycroft has made it to 26 without having to marry and so Sherlock had held onto the hope that maybe he wouldn’t be forced to pick a suitor just yet.

Circumstances are different, though. Deep down, he thinks, his parents have always believed Sherlock would be the one giving the Crown heirs. It’s not that Mycroft has lacked offers, but for all his love of rules and traditions, his brother just doesn’t seem the marrying type.

Of course no one would say that aloud. Any Omega noble knows that marriage (and everything that it entails) is expected at some point; staying single isn’t an option. Still, Mycroft is one of those “odd” individuals that lacks any real quality that any respectable Alpha would like in their Mate.

Sherlock might be stubborn and hotheaded, but he knows he has a bit of submission in him. If pressed hard enough, he’ll bend. His brother on the other hand…

You can’t make Mycroft bend. No matter how hard you push, he seems to lack a breaking point. He knows that that’s the main reason all Alphas have simply stepped back when the Prince has rejected them, not even once asking for another chance. No one really wants an Omega that would do as they please.

He can’t help to envy his brother a little.

None of that matters anymore. He plays with the letter, turning it around a few times, entertaining himself with analyzing the paper, the ink, the letters’ shapes. Amazing really, all that one can deduce from a few lines.

Moriarty has always had an odd fascination with him. Sherlock can’t really explain it, because god knows he is as unpleasant to him as he is to any other noble. It’s not entirely based on his looks, although that certainly helps, nor on his intelligence which the Duke seems to genuinely admire. It unnerves him to not be able to truly read the other man and at the same time…

Well, he has to admit he’s pretty intrigued.

It won’t be a happy marriage, not even a peaceful one. He has very little doubt that Moriarty will very much like to push him to his limits, just to see how far he can go. What does it say about Sherlock that instead of scared, the thought makes him feel even more intrigued?

Mycroft has always said he has some very disturbing self-destructing tendencies. John said he was addicted to danger (not that he was one to talk, really) and that he lacked any true instinct of self preservation. Both are right, of course: there’s very little Sherlock wouldn’t do for the thrill of it, desperate attempts to avoid being bored at all costs.

Now, however, he has someone else to think of. He can’t throw himself head first into dangerous situations, not without making sure Abigail will be safe. His poor daughter has already lost a father, it wouldn’t be fair to leave her an orphan.

And yet-

If there’s an Alpha he expects won’t try to get rid of his daughter the moment they find out she exists is James Moriarty. Oh, he’ll certainly use her as a bargain chip, but he won’t hurt her just because. 

Where will the fun be in that?

Sherlock shivers, cold dread suddenly filling his veins. He has no illusions that he’ll be able to keep Abigail a secret forever; it’s just the sort of secret that seems destined to come to light. And when that happens, the only person that could help him protect his baby girl would be his Mate.

It’s a dangerous gamble, but really, what else can he do?

With a sigh, he drops Moriarty’s letter on the desk and picks up John’s again. Not for the first time, he wishes he hadn’t been born a Prince and that the choice of who to marry would be truly his. 

He finds a box of matches and lights up one. He hesitates one last time before letting the flame consume the scrap of paper, his heart heavy with regret. He knows why he can’t keep the letter, but the knowledge doesn’t make the task any easier.

Such is the history of his life, really.

* * *

 

His conversation with his brother doesn’t let him sleep at night. Curious, really, that they had failed to notice the deep of the conspiracy going beneath them, but well, there’s no point on dwelling on that. At least now they know what’s really going on and they can plan accordingly.

He’s not sure of how much use it’ll be, though.

Tired of just tossing and turning in bed, he stands up and looks through his small bookcase, hoping to find something to read to entertain himself. As he picks up a book his eyes land on his desk, where Duke Moriarty’s letter still rests.

Even if Mycroft doesn’t know it yet, Sherlock does know he’ll be a married man in just 3 months. It doesn’t matter which clever plan his brother comes up with, he won’t be risking his daughter. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

He realizes he’s crying and promptly forces himself to reign his emotions in. It’s ridiculous really, how much of an emotional wreck he is.

Sentiment. How troublesome.

And yet-

* * *

 

Mycroft’s plan is as desperate as it is crazy. Sherlock very much doubts it’ll prove effective, but he supposes they can give it a try, since it seems to mean so much to his brother. He knows the older male is just trying to protect him and while he appreciates the thought, he must admit he also resents it a bit.

He had made his peace with the idea of marrying out of convenience. Now-

He knows how pointless it is to try to change his brother’s mind, though. So he’d agreed to give it a shot, even if in his heart he believes it won’t work. He also thinks it’s a terrible idea; there’s really no need for them both to be miserable. Mycroft and Anthea might manage to have a working, convenient marriage, but he very much doubts his older brother can settle for that.

Not when-

“It does seem like a logical, sensible plan” Lestrade tells him, looking mostly unaffected, although he does seem to have gone a bit pale. Sherlock isn’t entirely sure why he decided to tell him about Mycroft’s desperate attempt to save him from a marriage to Duke Moriarty; it’s not like he believes the guard can do anything to make Mycroft change his mind, but-

There’s really no need for so many broken hearts.

“Don’t you- don’t you have anything else to say?”

Lestrade sighs, collapsing on the chair. He looks tired and incredibly sad for a beat, but quickly composes himself. “What do you want me to say, Sherlock? Are you expecting me to- what? Beg your brother to reconsider?”

Yes. More or less. He doesn’t answer, not sure of what he can say. Lestrade smiles sadly, running a hand through his hair. “He won’t change his mind.”

“He’ll be miserable.”

The guard sighs once more. “He’ll be fine. He-”

“You’re seriously just going to give up?”

Lestrade opens his mouth to argue and then closes it, clenching his jaw. Sherlock observes him closely, trying to figure out what’s going through his head, but not having much luck. Emotions have never really been his area.

“Even if your brother and I- even if we still had feelings for eachother, I know you always come first. So yes, Sherlock, I’m going to give up because Mycroft would rather see you safe than be with anyone he might actually want.”

The Prince frowns, not particularly caring for the guard’s logic. The other male chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re such a romantic, sometimes.” He tells him. “Happy endings only happen in books, Sherlock.”

The younger male’s frown deepens. “There’s really no need for all of us to be miserable” he argues calmly. “I’ve already lost John; it’s not that much of a sacrifice to allow another Alpha to have me. My brother, on the other hand, hasn’t lost you, regardless of what you and Molly might be up to.”

Lestrade narrows his eyes. “I’m not discussing my relationship with Molly with you. It’s none of your business, really.”

Sherlock nods. “I concur. My previous statement still stands.”

The Beta looks away, seemingly conflicted. All that Sherlock was hoping for was to get him to think about what’s going to happen, he has no much hope for it to change anything. Both his brother and Lestrade can be quite stubborn and if they both believe this is the best thing they can do…

Well, it’s a lost war.

He just- he just wants his brother to be happy. He knows how much a broken heart hurts and if he could, he would like to spare Mycroft of it. He has tried, he really has, but his brother rarely behaves in the way Sherlock expects and so his attempts have fell flat. 

“You’re dismissed” he says calmly, suddenly feeling very tired. “Good evening, Lestrade.”

The guard observes him for a beat, before nodding and standing up. He seems to be in the verge of saying something else, but changes his mind and simply exits the room quietly. Sherlock closes his eyes and leans back on his seat, wondering what he’s supposed to do now.

This whole thing of trying to protect each other isn’t really working, is it?


	2. Desperate measures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When all other options fail...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s chapter 2! This one is meant to go with chapter 12, filling in a few of the blanks in there. We go a little more in deep with the consent issues here, because as I’ve said before, we can’t really speak of consent when Sherlock is being blackmailed into agreeing to the marriage, so…  
> Enjoy?

“Go and find Anthea.”

“What?”

Sherlock had planned to spend a quiet afternoon at the watching tower, with no other company than his personal guard and his own dark thoughts, trying to ignore his sense of unease, not knowing if his brother’s plan was going to work. Now, however-

Now he knows the plan has failed. “Go and find Anthea” he repeats, narrowing his eyes at Lestrade. The guard stares at him confused, but the Prince really has no patience to explain right now. “Go!” he exclaims and finally the older male hurries to obey, even if he still looks unsure.

Sherlock watches as the carriage stops at the gates and the guards hurry to open them. A few minutes later, Lord Magnussen steps out of the carriage, dressed in a quite _festive_ ensemble.

Just how did he find out?

Well, it doesn’t matter anymore. All he can pray for is that Anthea isn’t dead.

He didn’t expect the plan to work, but he didn’t expect for it to go so incredibly wrong.

What are they going to do now?

* * *

 

Anthea is nowhere to be found, but that’s not exactly unexpected. His brother is of course completely out of sorts, so Sherlock is pretty much on his own. Lestrade has already ordered search parties all around the Castle and the nearby villages, but they can’t use as many soldiers as they need, not without dragging the King’s attention.

And of course they can’t exactly explain what’s wrong, can they?

The Prince sits at his rooms, his mind reeling, trying to come up with an idea of what to do now. He knew Mycroft’s plan was desperate and unlikely to work, but he fears that they might have made things worse. He can’t know for sure without talking to Magnussen though, and he’s fairly certain that the older man won’t talk to him. The game is between the Earl and his brother, Sherlock is just a convenient pawn.

“Duke Moriarty has just arrived” Sherlock’s head snaps up at Lestrade’s words and he can read on the other male’s face that he knows exactly the implications the Duke’s visit has. Moriarty and Magnussen hate each other with a dark passion, but…

Sherlock closes his eyes, dread filling his veins. “We’re doomed, aren’t we?”

Lestrade doesn’t answer. The Prince sighs, briefly wondering if he can do any damage control and promptly deciding there’s really no point in trying. By now Magnussen has already made his offer and Moriarty’s presence at the Castle indicates he has accepted, so any attempt to get on the Duke’s good graces right now would be for nothing.

“Well then” he says, in an entirely too falsely cheerful tone, “let’s find Anthea, yes? If nothing else, it might be a good idea to make sure my brother’s guard isn’t lying dead in some ditch.”

Lestrade makes a pained face, but nods. Sherlock nods to himself, standing up and heading towards his wardrobe, intending to change into clothes more fitting for running around the streets, chasing for hidden clues.

If nothing else, it’ll keep his mind busy.

* * *

 

They find Anthea in the wee hours of the morning, unconscious and badly battered, but breathing. Obviously that wasn’t her attacker's intention, but well, you should always check for vital signs before throwing someone into the river instead of hoping that the currents will finish the job. That’s just sloppy.

Of course that saying that outloud earns him a glare from Lestrade, a concerned frown from Dr. Stanford and a despairing look from Molly.

There are moments when he’s keenly reminded of John’s absence. His beloved would have understand what he meant.

* * *

 

He’s not exactly surprised when Duke Moriarty doesn’t request his company the next day. Apparently, the Duke and Magnussen have engaged Father into some important discussion, about some important business (or in other words, s _ome scheme that no respectable Omega has any business in knowing because their tiny brains wouldn’t understand it_. In yet some other words, something utterly dull and not worthy of Sherlock’s attention) so the Prince is left alone for the next 2 days. On the morning of the third, while he waits outside his brother’s chambers, ready to let him know just how badly his plan backfired, he gets ambushed by a very smug looking Duke.

“Would you give me the honor of a few minutes of your company, Your Highness?” the Alpha asks pleasantly, but his eyes shine with badly concealed mirth and so Sherlock knows better than to refuse.

“Of course” he replies evenly, offering the Duke his arm. It wouldn’t do to upset the man now, not when he’s going to become his husband in just a couple of months.

He knew it would come to this. It doesn’t mean he wasn’t hoping for a different outcome.

* * *

 

“You know what I’m going to ask” Moriarty tells him once they’re standing at the garden. Sherlock ignores him in favor of staring at the withering apple trees; winter is pretty much upon them and it seems almost impossible that it’s been almost a year since he came back from the Palace with his daughter in tow.

“Obviously” he replies calmly, even if his heart is beating furiously inside his chest. “You also know my answer” he turns to face the other man then, his face carefully blank. “I would have accepted eventually, though. You didn’t need to do this.”

Moriarty hums, looking thoughtful for a beat. “I asked thrice, Sherlock. I’m a very patient man, but you were making me lose my patience.”

“I seem to have that effect on people” the Prince says with a shrug and his soon to be fiancé smirks. “Is there any way I could convince you to withdraw your support to Lord Magnussen’s plot?”

The Duke observes him for the longest time, but finally just shakes his head. Sherlock closes his eyes, feeling tired and defeated. It was a long shot, of course, but he was hoping…

“You should have say yes a month ago” the Duke tells him, not exactly unkindly. “But I’m guessing big brother Mycroft talked you out of it?” Sherlock nods and the other man chuckles. “Well, you should know better than to listen to him.”

Sherlock doesn’t answer; he understands Mycroft’s concern and he knows why marrying the Duke might be a bad idea, but right now it’s his only option. “My daughter will be safe, won’t she?”

Moriarty observes him with what seems like honest curiosity and then smirks. “You have my word. If you want, you can even bring the little bastard to live with us.”

Sherlock clenches his fists, hating the term. Still, he knows better than to argue. With a resigned sigh, he tilts his head a little, in the traditional submissive motion that indicates he has accepted the Alpha’s offer.

Moriarty beams at him, before pressing a quick kiss against his mating gland. The Prince shivers at the contact, but quickly chides himself for being silly.

He can do this. He must do this.

For Abigail’s sake, if nothing else.

* * *

 

“Your brother is very worried.”

Sherlock hums non committedly while he gets dressed for his engagement banquet. The whole day has gone in a bit of a blur, all his senses dulled. He had considered visiting Mycroft earlier, but decided against it in the last minute. He can admit to himself that he’s a little angry at his brother, even if deep down he knows it’s not really his fault the situation they’re in.

Lestrade sighs, not facing him, so the Prince can dress in relative privacy. The notion is ridiculous, really, but if it makes the guard feel better…

“Sherlock, there must be another way-”

“I’m not risking my daughter” the younger man interrupts darkly. “We tried Mycroft’s plan and it didn’t work; if anything, it make things worse. I’m not-”

“That’s not-”

“Don’t.” Sherlock orders firmly, stepping in front of the guard, mindless of his state of undress. “I’m doing this, Lestrade. Don’t try to talk me out of it. I’m not giving in, not this time.”

The older male sighs, placing a hand on his shoulder in what the Prince guesses it’s supposed to be a comforting manner. “We’re just- we’re concerned about you, Sherlock. We just want you to be safe.”

A small part of Sherlock’s mind wonders about the wording, the other part is too busy feeling frustrated at being pitied. “I’ll be fine” he argues adamantly. “I’ll be fine” he repeats, although his voice breaks a little this second time as he wonders who is he trying to convince. Lestrade squeezes his shoulder and the Prince pulls away before he breaks down crying.

He goes back to dressing, his mind a jumbled mess. He’s worried too, if he must be honest with himself; he knows that the road in front of him will probably be unpleasant and dangerous, but-

He doesn’t have any other choice.

* * *

 

He sits at the banquet in silence, his mind far away. He catches his brother’s eye more than once, but quickly looks away, his thoughts still conflicted. He can’t blame Mycroft for this terrible outcome; he was just trying to protect him. But this whole protecting each other thing isn’t really working and Sherlock wonders what is he supposed to do with that knowledge.

He feels his fiance’s hand underneath the table squeezing his thigh and immediately tenses. A second later he forces himself to relax; he needs to get used to these things. He turns to the Duke and offers him a tight smile that makes the other male smirk smugly.

He can do this. He will do this.

He’s strong enough.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well… thoughts anyone?  
> This ends a bit sooner than the main fic, but I really didn’t see much point on rewriting those last two scenes, but hopefully it’s still understandable enough?  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought and remember, any concerns and suggestions, I would be happy to answer.


	3. Personal matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wedding should be a joyus ocassion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god… I really don’t know about this chapter. Warning for yet more in deep consent issues, but if you read the main fic, you have an idea of where this is going…  
> Sorry for the late update, but this week was pretty hectic and I’m guessing the next one will be pretty much the same, so updates might take a while.  
> Enjoy?

Most of the wedding planning goes over Sherlock’s head, since he’s not even a tiny bit interested on it. He never wanted to marry and he’s marrying someone he doesn’t love, so why should he care about the whole ordeal?

So he goes along with whatever Mother wants, just nodding along whenever he’s asked for his input. The Queen doesn’t seem particularly troubled by this and he guesses she really isn’t; after all, all his parents care for is to see him respectably mated.

_ Respectably mated.  _ What does that even mean?

It’s no matter, not really. He might be feeling a little…  _ angsty  _ about the whole ordeal and some days panic might threaten to overwhelm him, but he manages to keep his emotions in check for the most part. He knows why he should marry and he knows why he shouldn’t cause a fuss about it. For his daughter’s sake, there’s no sacrifice he’s not willing to contemplate.

Still-

He scurries out of his chambers every night, sneaking into Molly’s to spend as much time as he can with Abigail. Seeing that Mother insists on him being present whenever the wedding is being discussed, even if she doesn’t expect him to contribute to the conversation, he doesn’t have many chances to see his daughter and so visiting in the evenings seemed like the most logical thing to do.

Molly doesn’t mind, since it gives her time to read and study while Sherlock watches over Abigail. The female is well on her way to become a full trained doctor and although she has a lot to do and study because of that, she never complains about having to look after Abigail. If anything, she seems to enjoy spending time with the little girl.

But how could she not, Sherlock thinks, when his baby girl is such a joy to be around? Despite her very young age, she’s very bright and she seems to perfectly understand whatever you might tell her. She follows instructions easily and although she asks a lot of questions, she’s perfectly aware of who is safe to ask and who she ought to avoid. She follows Molly around the Castle quietly, never interrupting her studies and charming everyone she comes in contact with. Just like her other father, she’s very likeable, even if she always seems to be a bit wary of strangers.

Really, she reminds him so much of John that sometimes it physically pains him to watch her. 

He doesn’t like the idea of leaving her behind, but he doesn’t relish the idea of taking her with him either. He wouldn’t want her anywhere near his future husband and at the same time, he’s not sure how he’ll cope with not being able to see her this often.

Then again, it might not be long before he moves back into the Castle. If Magnussen’s plan really involves killing Mycroft at some point, the natural expectation once Sherlock is named Crown Prince will be for him and his husband to move into the Castle, despite Duke Moriarty having his own lands to rule.

And that’s yet another thing to worry about, isn’t it? Sherlock doesn’t think his brother will be murdered anytime soon; not while Father is in perfectly good health. But maybe- well, he really doesn’t want to begin thinking about that.

No use on worrying, really. He has learned it’s better to take one day at the time.

One day at the time indeed.

* * *

 

Sherlock walks down the hall as if he were in a trance, vaguely aware of his surroundings. At some point he notices there are people following, but his mind barely registers the fact and it certainly has no interest on figuring out who might be following. Everything has lost meaning, nothing matters at all.

His right hand curls around the ring that he has taken on hiding in his pockets, since it gives him a vague sense of comfort. Right now however, it just seems to fuel his pain, his sense of loss. He had always known it might come to this and yet, he had dared to hope-

_ The entirety of the medical team. _

Damn Magnussen. The revelation was perfectly timed of course, although Sherlock doesn’t really understand what was his point. It doesn’t matter though, because he can’t focus on conspiracies right now. Right now there’s a gaping hole in his chest that threatens to overwhelm him, to rob him of the little sanity he has left-

He opens Molly’s door with maybe a little too much strength, startling the female. The woman reacts on instinct, immediately shielding Abigail with her body from whoever has stormed into her rooms. She relaxes when she notices it’s him, but Sherlock is quite moved by her reaction. Under other circumstances, he might have said something on the matter, but right now he feels too raw and he knows that if he opens his mouth, he’ll break down.

“Sherlock? What’s wrong?” Molly asks, evidently worried. She stands up and comes to stand in front of him, quickly checking him over. The Prince supposes his eyes are bright with unshed tears and he’s vaguely aware of the fact that he’s shaking and although he knows he can trust Molly, although he wants to tell her what’s wrong, although he’s craving comfort, he finds himself incapable of forming words.

“Papa?” Abigail questions softly, carefully climbing down the bed and hurrying towards the adults. “Papa?” she repeats, frowning lightly, obviously concerned and that just helps to break Sherlock’s heart a bit more. He falls onto his knees and gathers his daughter against his chest, silent tears streaming down his cheeks now, his whole body shaking with the force of his suppressed sobs.

“Sherlock?” Molly says gently, kneeling next to him a placing a hand over his shoulder. “What happened?” she asks, starting to rub circles over his back. Abigail makes a distressed sound, upset by her father’s evident pain and Sherlock finds himself crying harder. He knows he should stop, that he’s scaring his daughter and that is completely unfair to put the girl through this, but he can’t help it. He probably should have locked himself into his room until he calmed down, but he had needed- he needed-

He pulls away a little, staring at his daughter. She truly resembles John, she even sports the same worried expression. The thought brings a small smile to his lips, before he’s quickly reminded of what he has just found out and that it’s the cause of his grief.

“It’s John” he replies finally, his voice a broken murmur. “He- There was an explosion at the healing tents.” He closes his eyes, his heart constricting in his chest. He can’t finish the thought, but he knows he doesn’t need to. He can see on Molly’s anguished expression that she understands what happened and Abigail doesn’t really need to know what has happened to her other father.

“Oh, Sherlock” Molly exclaims, pulling him into a hug. Abigail also hugs him then, sensing that’s something he needs. Sherlock finds himself overwhelmed by emotion once more and so he starts crying once more and both females squeeze him tighter.

Eventually, he manages to calm down once more. Abigail is looking terribly worried by now, so Sherlock forces himself to regain control of his emotions. It’s hard, because he feels like he’s dying inside, but he knows he must do it.

“I’ll- Should I leave you alone for a bit?” Molly offers, her eyes red, and the Prince nods. The woman stands up and offers him a soft sad smile, before exiting the room, closing the door behind her. Sherlock catches a quick glimpse of Lestrade, Anthea and his brother standing outside, but he decides not to focus on that. He turns to his daughter again, offering her a tired smile.

“Papa fine?” she asks softly, placing her small hand against his cheek. Sherlock bites his lip hard to stop himself from crying again and nods. The girl makes a face, unconvinced, looking so much like John that Sherlock can’t help the small chuckle that escapes him.

“I’ll be fine” he promises, kissing the palm of her hand. “I’m just a little sad right now.”

“Why?” she asks, tilting her head curiously and the Prince sighs.

“I- Something happened to a friend of mine. I won’t- I won’t be seeing him again in a long while.”

Abigail nods thoughtfully and Sherlock finds himself wondering once more just how much she truly understands of their situation. She’s terribly smart for such a young child, but- “It’ll be fine” he repeats, more to himself than to her. “Everything will be fine.”

The child nods once more, before throwing her arms around his neck once more. Sherlock closes his eyes, picking her up so he can carry her towards the bed. “We should get some sleep, huh? How does that sound?”

Abigail looks worried once more, but nods enthusiastically. For a while, neither says anything else and then the girl starts babbling about one thing or another and Sherlock quickly realizes she’s trying to distract him. His heart clenches once more; she’s still a baby, how can she-?

Well, he guesses he shouldn’t be so surprised. It’s in her blood after all: Sherlock’s brightness and John’s compassion. What a combination, really.

* * *

 

The thing is that, in some deep corner of his mind, he always thought he would see John again. A part of him, small as it might have been, always believed that the impossible could be achieved and that he and his beloved would find their way back to each other sooner or later, no matter what.

He supposes they still will, just not in this lifetime. The idea is more painful that he would dare to admit, but now all he can do is resign himself to it. For now, there are other things to focus on and he has much to do before he can start thinking of joining John in the next life. He needs to focus in the here and now, he needs to focus on the things he can still control.

Magnussen has made one very very grave mistake. The conspiracy was a bad thing, of course, but Sherlock has little interest in politics and his only concern had been to keep his daughter safe. He was, of course, also concerned about his brother’s fate, but in some level, he had always trust Mycroft to handle himself.

But by getting John murdered, Magnussen has turned it into a personal matter. 

Sherlock is now out for revenge and really, that’s one hell of a wild card.

* * *

 

“So, how are you doing?”

Sherlock spares a quick glance in his interlocutor’s direction, before turning his attention back to the horizont. The sun is just setting and the Prince had been intending to hide at the watching tower in the hopes to have a few minutes of very needed solicitude, considering the circus that the next morning will bring, but it seems luck isn’t really on his side.

“You know it’s bad luck to see the groom before the wedding.”

Moriarty chuckles, coming to stand right next to him. Sherlock tenses a bit, but forces himself not to show any of his discomfort. His companion smirks, before turning to stare at the setting sun too.

“I don’t think it really applies to our situation” he comments off handedly. “I’m sure some would argue that our marriage is doomed either way.”

Sherlock doesn’t reply, not knowing what the other man’s game is. For a while, they stand in silence, before he feels Moriarty’s hand slipping around his waist, pulling him so they’re facing each other. “You should know I had nothing to do with the attack on the Border.”

Sherlock’s breath catches, his mind going on overdrive at the information. He frowns lightly, “why are you telling me this?” he asks, honestly curious, all too aware of the other male’s tight grip around him. It’s not exactly proper for them to be this close since they’re not married yet, but then again, Sherlock has never particularly cared for property.

Still, it would be a nice excuse to pull away.

Moriarty smirks, somehow tightening his grip even further. “Against what you might think, I don’t intend to cause you any unnecessary grief.”

Sherlock arches an eyebrow. “Excuse me if I find that hard to believe.”

Moriarty makes a face, but finally shrugs and lets go of him. “You may believe whatever you want to. Although I do wish you would trust me.”

“Why would I?” Sherlock demands, anger creeping in his tone. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but-”

“You and I are much more alike than you think, darling” the other interrupts him smoothly. “That’s why we should stick together” he chuckles softly, once again placing himself into Sherlock’s personal space. “You’ll see.”

The Prince narrows his eyes, but doesn’t comment. Moriarty smirks once more, before placing a soft kiss against his jaw, making Sherlock shiver. He takes a step back and finds himself trapped against the wall, which makes him feel slightly panicked. His fiancé smiles almost predatorily and Sherlock gulps.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” Moriarty says, turning around to leave. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

And with that he’s gone, leaving a very confused and quite disturbed Prince behind.

What the hell has just happened?

* * *

 

He glares at his reflection for the longest time, while the maids fuss with his hair. As usual, his curls refuse to be tamed, but the maids seem dead set on making them look “presentable”. No doubt Mother gave very strict instructions of how he’s supposed to look and the poor girls are just trying to avoid the Queen’s ire.

The door opens and his brother steps in. He just needs a quick look to know what exactly has Mycroft been up to and he feels himself getting enraged right away. This is why he has been doing his best at avoiding his brother; honestly, what gives him the right to behave like he was the one heading towards his execution?

Oh. Right. He is, in a way. Still-

He rages and rants and Mycroft takes it all in a stride. His unease is easy to see, but they both pretend everything is fine. They can’t afford to let their emotions get the best of them, but then again-

His brother starts combing his hair and Sherlock finds himself unwillingly relaxing. The pressure of Mycroft’s fingers over his scalp makes wonders for his nerves and soon enough he’s feeling slightly more at ease. Not completely, of course, but given the circumstances…

“I’ll be fine” he assures Mycroft for what feels like the hundredth time. His brother stops his motions for a beat and then sighs almost imperceptibly.

“I know” Mycroft whispers, his voice barely audible, as he drops a kiss against his hair. “I know.”

Sherlock closes his eyes and forces himself not to start thinking too much about the day ahead of him. It will do nothing but make him anxious and he really needs to be as calm as possible so he can face what is coming.

Easier said than done, of course.

* * *

 

“I do.”

He’s quite proud of himself when he manages to utter the words without his voice breaking. To the casual observer, he’s certain he looks relaxed; if not completely happy, then at least at ease. Of course to the most observant people it’s obvious just how unsettled the whole affair is making him feel, but well… he supposes it doesn’t matter really.

Their first kiss isn’t anything more than a chaste press of lips and Sherlock is surprised by his husband’s almost tenderness. He doesn’t press for more, seemingly content with the brief contact and while he guesses he should feel grateful for that, he can’t help to feel even more nervous.

The problem with James Moriarty is that he’s never sure what to expect.

Which is of course what makes the man so dangerous.

* * *

 

He wants to leave the party almost right away. The sooner they get to… their wedding night, the better. No use in postponing the inevitable and really, he’s not in the mood to smile and act politely to people that he either doesn’t care for or doesn’t like at all. 

But of course his now husband has other plans and so he’s forced to socialize. He ends up dancing and drinking, all the while the sense of dread hanging heavily over him. As the night progresses, he finds himself more and more nervous and he just wishes this whole thing could be over.

When his husband finally asks if he wants to retire, Sherlock stands up a tad too eagerly, earning himself an arched eyebrow from his father and amused laughter from the nobles sitting close by (as well as some lears and whistles). As they slip away, he’s all too aware of the many eyes following them. 

He takes a deep breath and forces himself to relax, telling himself he can do this. It’s simple biology, his body will know what to do and it’s not like he hasn’t done before. Granted, he knows it won’t be exactly the same but-

It’ll be fine. He’ll be fine.

Won’t he?

* * *

 

Mother fusses over him, examining him over and over. Sherlock stands up straight, keeping his breath even, refusing to let panic overwhelm him. When the Queen is satisfied with his aspect, she offers him a soft smile and a pat on his shoulder.

“It’ll be fine” she assures him almost gently, in a caring tone that Sherlock has never heard before coming from her. He frowns, feeling a bit more unsure.

He has never had a close relationship with his mother, not by far. She’s not exactly loving, the very few displays of affection that Sherlock has received have been sparse and always felt a bit calculated. The general consensus dictates that the Queen is an smart, sharp tongued woman, with a frozen heart.

There are stories, of course, of how did that happened. Sherlock has always been curious about them, but when he had asked Mycroft, his brother had told him not to pay any mind to the gossip. Still, Sherlock has learned that if one listens to the people’s gossip, one might end up unraveling more than one mystery.

Now is probably not the time to satisfy his curiosity, but- “Shouldn’t you be a bit more sympathetic of my situation?” he asks without thinking. His mother arches an eyebrow, surprised, obviously not expecting his words. Sherlock bites his lip, wondering if he should let the matter drop, but at the same time…

“Why should I?” she asks calmly, her tone cold and detached. The brief flicker of affection that Sherlock thought he had seen is gone, nothing but his mother’s usual icy demeanor left.

“Is it true?” he asks, knowing he’s pressing his luck. Someone else might have asked for clarification, but the Queen can be just as good at deductions as her children when she wants to.

Sherlock wonders if she knows about the conspiracy and if she does, if she cares at all.

The female pursues her lips, a look of displeasure on her face. Sherlock doesn’t exactly regret asking, not yet, but he can tell it’s a sore subject for Mother. Still-

“Being the youngest of 12 siblings, my parents didn’t hold many expectations of me making a good marriage” she smiles tightly, without any trace of humor. “But alas, here I am. Married to a King, mother of two Princes. A fate quite different from what they- and I- envisioned.”

“So you really were engaged before” Sherlock presses for more information, not sure why it seems so important to know now. His mother makes a face, but nods. “To a commoner” he continues and the Queen’s eyes harden, but she doesn’t deny it. “Why then, didn’t you-?”

“I was the youngest daughter of a nearly destitute Baron, Sherlock” she interrupts him darkly. “If I couldn’t escape the fate brought upon me by my blood, what made you think that you, a Prince, would be able to?” 

Sherlock looks away, biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. “So you feel no sympathy towards me?”

The Queen observes him for a beat, before sighing. “I pity you, darling. I always was- I always let you get away with too many things. I do believe I should have acted sooner, I should never have allowed-”

“You loved and lost” Sherlock interrupts her angrily. “How can you-?”

“And I learned my lesson, Sherlock. We are what we are. It’s pointless to fight it.”

He knows he shouldn’t have asked. And yet- “How could you- You know how it hurts-”

“With time, you’ll see it was for the best” she tells him coldly, patting his cheek almost patronizing. “You’ll see.”

The Prince glares, but doesn’t add anything else. He finds himself out of words, his heart aching with fresh hurt. But then again, he should have known better than to ask for comfort from his mother.

“Now, back to the matter at hand” the Queen says, a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes on her lips. “Just- keep your eyes closed and your mind blank. With any luck, you might even enjoy it.” Sherlock glares once more and she offers him a quick smirk. “If not… well, I would advice to pray you get pregnant soon. The sooner you deliver a couple of heirs, the sooner you’ll be left alone.”

Sherlock wonders if the Queen is really that miserable with his father and if she is, why does she take it out on her children. What she’s telling him- that’s not-

“You’ll understand someday” she tells him firmly. “It might sound harsh, but trust me dear, it’s better if I don’t sugarcoat things.”

The Prince turns around, his eyes going to the open window. He wonders if the fall would hurt too badly, or if he’d be dead too quickly for the pain to really register. It sounds almost like an attractive prospect really, but-

He can do this. He’ll be fine.

It’ll be fine.

* * *

 

It’s not really the sex what has him nervous (although the prospect certainly doesn’t improve matters) but what comes afterwards. Sex is simple biology; if he lets himself go, his body will respond accordingly. So really, there’s no need to get worked over it.

There are other things at play here, though. Not only a conspiracy, but Sherlock thinks Moriarty is playing his own game and he’ll better figure out the rules soon or things will take an unpleasant turn all too quickly.

Still, he’s certain he can do it. He just needs- he needs to stop overthinking and just- go with the flow. For now, at least. Later- later he’ll have to figure out a counter attack, but he needs to first familiarize himself with the enemy, so he knows where and when to strike.

It’ll be fine. He’ll be fine.

It seems no matter how many times he tells himself that, he’ll never quite believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s quite long, isn’t it? I don’t really know if I like this one or not. Many things are happening and I’m not sure if it’s making sense or not. The scenes didn’t quite go as I originally envisioned them and I think they might seem a bit forced (particularly the one after John’s ‘death’ and the conversation with the Queen) but… let me know what you thought?  
> The next chapter deals with the wedding night, so feel free to skip it. Although there are a couple of scenes that should give us more insight on Moriarty’s own machinations, as well as on Sherlock’s thoughts, it’s not necessary to read it if you feel it’s too much.  
> Chapter 5, however, I would advise reading it.  
> Thanks for reading, let me know what you thought!


	4. Misery loves company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter… ok, warnings for dub con, although as you know I don’t write smut, so while things are implied, I don’t go into details. It can be, however, upsetting for some people, so I thought I should warn you.  
> I wouldn’t say that reading it’s necessary to understand the rest of the fic; despite of the insight it might give us on Sherlock’s and Moriarty’s relationship, the most important bits will be later addressed so again, if you’re not comfortable reading this sort of stuff, feel free to skip this bit.  
> I, however, felt compelled to write this piece. I’m aware my tastes are not everyone’s cup of tea, so… well, as I said, feel free to skip this one.

Taking one last deep breath, Sherlock opens the door to his husband’s temporary chambers, managing to look calm and collected. The room is bathed in the soft light of far too many candles and the Prince can’t help to frown a little at it. It’s quite the fire hazard, isn’t it? Why would someone consider this romantic?

He shakes his head lightly, realizing just how crazy his thoughts are. Just further proof of how deeply unnerved he is, no matter what he keeps telling himself. Still, he’s certain he can do this, even if every nerve in his body is urging him to turn around and flee.

But that wouldn’t end well, would it?

He walks closer to the bed, proud of himself for managing to walk as regally as usual, not dragging his feet like he’s being forced to be here. Of course he is, in some ways, but well… it wouldn’t do to show any weakness: You don’t go showing predators when you’re scared. They might notice either way, but one should always behave confidently.

From the bed, his husband offers him a smirk.

Sherlock forces himself to breath normally as he closes the final gap between himself and the bed. His heart is beating furiously, but he’s certain there are no outward signs of his distress. He finally comes to stand next to the bed and just stays there, his back ramrod straight, his breath even, his hands perfectly steady.

For a while, neither of them move or speak. His husband stares at him appraisingly and Sherlock holds himself still, refusing to feel anything at all. The other man smirks at him once more, evidently amused by his display of self confidence and not even one bit fooled.

“Well then, no need to play the blushing virgin” Moriarty tells him mockingly, “come here” he gestures for Sherlock to sit on his lap and the younger male obeys, careful to keep his face blank and not to start shivering, despite his nervousness.

He’s not sure what he expects then, but it certainly isn’t for his husband to keep his hands to himself. They stay in their respective positions for the longest time, Sherlock growing more and more unnerved with each passing second.

Still, he refuses to break the silence.

His husband chuckles, before pressing a quick kiss against his neck. His whole body stiffens, nerves once more threatening to overwhelm him and if it wasn’t for his amazing self control, Sherlock is fairly certain he would have already bolted out of the bed.

“No need to be so nervous” the other whispers against his skin, carefully mouthing his neck, his teeth briefly pinching his mating gland. “It’s not like you haven’t done this before.”

“It’s quite different, though” Sherlock argues for the sake of argument, knowing it might be unwise to provoke his companion. “I don’t actually want this.”

Something shifts in the air and Sherlock curses his big mouth. When will he learn to keep quiet and not make things worse? Moriarty stops his attentions for a beat and he retaliates by biting down hard on the place where the neck meets the shoulder. The Prince holds back a whimper, praying it all be over soon.

“No need to be rude, love” the Duke tells him, licking over the bite soothingly. “I’ve been dreaming of this day for a long while and nothing you say will take away my enjoyment of it.”

Sherlock closes his eyes, resolving to stay quiet for the rest of their encounter. He tilts his head submissively, the fight leaving his body for the time being. His companion tuts, grabbing his chin, forcing him to hold his stare. “None of that” he tells him softly. “I really like you, Sherlock. I like your fire, I like your defiance. If I wanted someone who would just submit to me, I could have had any other Omega in the Kingdom.”

“You want to break me” Sherlock says, a hint of defiance in his tone, even if he really doesn’t feel like fighting right now.

Moriarty hums, mouthing his neck once more. “I might. But that’s not my main objective.”

Sherlock frowns, his curiosity getting the best of him. “What do you want, then?” he asks, vaguely aware that his body is starting to react to his partner’s ministrations. It’s all biology, of course, with him being so close to Heat it won’t be long before he loses all consciousness of himself. In the meantime though-

“It’s rather dreadful, don’t you think? People are just unbearably dull, nobody ever poses the sightless challenge. They just- they go through life with as little conscience as animals do, a complete waste of mind power” he scowls darkly, his utter disdain for the human race quite visible. “It gets so dull. There’s only so much one can do before boredom takes over the mind.”

Sherlock frowns, recognizing his own thoughts. He keeps himself very still, while his husband’s lips continue running over his neck. “It all gets so predictable, so easy to deduce. There’s nothing to look forward to. And despite it all, despite how utterly dreadful people are, one can’t help to feel-”

“Lonely” the Prince finishes the sentence, an all too familiar ache in his chest. Life _is_ boring, people _are_ predictable, the world _is_ dull. But he hadn’t quite felt that way in a long time, not since he met-

His frown deepens, pulling a little apart so he can examine his companion a bit better. “What are you saying?” he asks, uncertain of his deductions because it doesn’t make sense and at the same time-

The other male chuckles humorlessly. “Must I spell it out for you, Sherlock? You disappoint me, love.”

The Omega ponders over his soon-to-be Mate’s words for a while, his mind barely registering he’s being undressed. As his robe gets discarded, he snaps back into attention, locking eyes with his companion. “You actually want-” he whispers, almost awed. “Me. Not- not just physically.”

Moriarty chuckles once more, pulling him into a languid kiss that Sherlock finds himself returning, his mind still overwhelmed with the recent revelation. “I find you very desirable, darling. But yes, it’s not just your body what I want.”

Sherlock’s mind is reeling, nothing making much sense. “If you want- if you want _something else_ from me, you’re going the wrong way about it.”

Another soft chuckle. “We’ll see. As I said, we have more in common than you know sweetheart. I’m certain you can be… persuaded to forget about-”

“You’ve conspired against my family and I with a despicable man, you’ve threatened my daughter, you intend to have my brother murdered. How can you even imagine I could grow to love you?”

For a beat, neither speaks or even moves, the air seemingly frozen inside the bedroom. His husband kisses his cheek gently and Sherlock looks away, something that feels like horror slowly creeping along his spine, making him sick. “You’ll see” the Alpha repeats, leaning in for another kiss that the Prince refuses.

True resistance, however, is impossible and he’s well aware of that. His traitorous body is already a mess of hormones and desperate for some release. His hips move on their own accord, looking for friction and his companion offers him an almost feral smirk that would normally make him shiver in unpleasant ways, but right now-

It’s not the mindless desire of Heat, which somehow makes it worse, because he knows what’s happening. He’s fully aware of his surroundings, he’s completely aware of what he does and says. It’s awful and frightening, but his body insists on ignoring his mind and so-

He closes his eyes, telling himself for the hundredth time that he can do this.

“Any preference for the first time?” his husband asks him, one eyebrow raised. Sherlock glares and so the other man laughs. “No? I expected as much.” The hands that had been simply resting at his sides on the bed come to grip his thighs and Sherlock takes a deep breath, forcing himself not to attempt to run. His nightgown is ridiculously easy to remove and before he knows it, he’s sitting completely bare on his husband’s lap. “Like this, I should think” Moriarty tells him, kissing his cheek once more, one hand on his hipbone, the other on the nape of his neck, “much more- intimate, don’t you think?”

The Prince doesn’t answer, instead steadying himself for what is to come. His husband nose is buried against his mating gland now and it’s just a matter of time before he bites him, binding them together in a most permanent manner.

Luckily for him, his traitorous hormones are sending signals to his brain for him to relax. His mind hasn’t completely shut down, but it feels slower, like he’s sleepy. It’s simple biology, it’s completely natural. His inner Omega urges him to submit to the Alpha and so he complies, his mind too hazy to try to convince him otherwise.

A small part of his brain that is still conscious, screams at just how _wrong_ the whole thing is, but listening to that voice feels like too much of an effort and so he just closes his eyes and lets himself go.

Pure biology indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> I think I’ve said before that I do ship Sheriarty a little bit, but I don’t think it would be a happy or healthy relationship. I do think they’re quite similar in the sense that both have massive brains that won’t shut down, as well as in the way they deal with people not really understanding them. However, I think that the big difference (in canon) is that Sherlock does have people that cares for and loves him, which have helped him to smooth the rougher edges of his personality (even before he meets John). Despite this, the fact that they end up in opposites sides, I think has more to do with luck than with background story but well, that’s just my opinion.  
> That being said… I think I’m staying true to my particular view of this relationship on this fic, but well, I’m always open to constructive criticism and other people’s opinions.  
> I think I’ll be posting next chapter before I post chapter 14 of the main fic, despite I’ve already finished that one. It seems to me that it might flow better that way, but we’ll see. It’ll depend on what exactly I end up writing in chapter 5.  
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Desperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end is near...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here’s a new chapter! I decided to post this one before chapter 14 of the main fic, because I’m still unsure about that one so…  
> Enjoy?

It’s freezing outside, but the room is unpleasantly warm. Although the fire has died long ago, Sherlock still feels uncomfortably hot. He sits up, throwing the covers off him, as he considers the merits of leaving the bed in search of some water. His throat feels too dry, he’s sticky with sweat (and other bodily fluids) and that just helps to increase his discomfort. Maybe a quick bath would be a good idea.

Next to him, his husband stirs slightly and he freezes, forcing himself to take slow breaths so the chances of his companion actually waking up decrease. He holds himself still for what feels like a lifetime and finally his Mate settles down once more.

He sighs, carefully slipping out of the bed. The floor is slightly cooler and he’s half tempted to just lie down and sleep there, but quickly dismisses the idea. He’s certain his husband would be most displeased if he happens to get sick and he really doesn’t want to get on his bad side just yet.

He will, eventually, because that just seems to be his nature, but for now-

He tiptoes, careful not to make any noise as he slips into the ensuite bathroom, allowing himself to relax only after the door is closed. He sighs, leaning his head against the cold tiles and takes long deep breaths.

It’s not really usual for couples to share chambers, no matter how recent the marriage might be. Sharing bed implies a certain level of intimacy that most couples certainly don’t have, so Sherlock had believed he would be granted his own rooms. Even if he was summoned to his husband’s chambers every night, he didn’t think they would actually be spending the night together.

Of course Moriarty has his own ideas about it.

_ James  _ he quickly reminds himself, remembering all too well his Mate’s latest display of bad temper after he called him by his last name once more.

It’s weird though, to think of him in such manner. He never expected to have to, having never been on first name basis with any other nobles (except Princess Irene, but he’s most definitely not thinking about her right now) and so just addressing them by title in their presence and by last name when talking to his brother. 

As he waits for the tub to fill, he lets his mind wander. It seems that time hasn’t passed at all, it feels like he married just yesterday, but it’s been nearly a month and the thought makes him vaguely uncomfortable. He has settled into his new life as well as he can, but there’s no denying he’s far from being content or even just calm. In addition to his ‘relationship woes’, there are still too many loose ends and he’s more than a little worried about that.

He hasn’t talked to Mycroft since the day he left the Castle, not a single letter has been exchanged between them. It makes him anxious, not having any news on his brother, but the lack of news on his daughter is even more worrisome. He wants to believe it means she’s perfectly fine, but-

“A little late for a bath, don’t you think?”

The Prince jumps a bit, startled by his husband’s sudden appearance. He sighs, used by now to the total lack of privacy, but still unhappy about it. James smirks, leaning against the door, fortunately not steeping any closer.

“It’s too hot in the room” Sherlock whispers, not holding his stare, suddenly feeling too tired. For a while, everything is quiet and he dares to believe he has been left alone when he feels his husband slipping into the bathtub behind him.

He forces himself not to scream in frustration and instead tries to relax into the embrace. It’s awkward and slightly unpleasant, but he knows better than to anger the Duke. He feels a kiss against the side of his neck and he takes a deep breath, telling himself it’s not as bad as it could be.

At least his husband is never deliberately hurtful, nor does he really force him into anything. Oh, he certainly can’t say ‘no’ to his attentions, but his Mate always makes sure he’s sufficiently ‘into it’ so to speak.

It’s not as bad as it could be.

It doesn’t really make it any easier though.

* * *

 

Later, as he lies in bed, once more feeling entirely too warm, he considers the latest bit of information he has managed to get from his husband. James is surprisingly talkative when he’s relaxed and if Sherlock is sneaky enough with his questions, masquerading them carefully, he always manages to get a bit of information before the other succumbs to sleep.

It’s not exactly ideal, but it certainly works.

He needs to go back to the Castle soon; he can’t risk writing his brother a letter but he needs to share with him the name of a few more conspirators and let him know just how wide Magnussen’s web of informants really is. They need to start working on that if they want to have the slightest chance of winning this war.

Still, he can not randomly leave his new home. He needs a plan, an excuse to-

He’s startled out of his thoughts by some insistent knocking on the window. He frowns, standing up once more and heading towards it, his heart heavy with a sense of foreboding.

He opens the window and a pigeon flies in. He recognizes the animal immediately and with shaking hands he picks the letter tied to its leg. Still trembling, he opens the note and starts reading, his heart promptly dropping to his feet.

_ Your brother is dying. _

Anthea’s letter provides no more insight; ever the practical one she’s just informing him of the facts. Sherlock finds himself pulling at his hair, desperate, frustrated and scared. This wasn’t supposed to happen, they were supposed to have more time-

He needs to think. He can’t let the sentiment overwhelm him, he needs to make a plan. The letter provides no information about what has happened, nor whether or not they have time, or which are the chances of his brother pulling through. He understands the need of giving away as little as possible, in case the letter was intercepted, but-

He continues pulling his hair, the physical pain distracting him from the emotional one and so he manages not to burst into tears. He can’t afford to be weak, not right now, not if Mycroft is really out of the picture. If his brother is dying, he needs to be the strong one, the one who can keep a cool head despite the desperate circumstances. He needs- he needs-

He needs to leave.

He throws a quick glance into his husband’s direction and he bites his lip. Leaving right now would be the best course of action, or at least he thinks so, but-

Should he leave a note? Should he wake up James and let him know-?

He must know. Heck, he might have provided the means for the murder! God, how can- how did-?

He realizes he’s going to be sick and hurries into the bathroom once more. God, why did he allow himself to be lulled into this false sense of security? He had thought everything was fine, he had thought-

Well, it doesn’t matter anymore, does it? 

He makes a quick mental note of what he needs: a horse, supplies for the trip, a change of clothes. If he’s very careful, he’s confident he can sneak out of the bedroom and into the kitchens without alerting any guards (or his husband). Getting into and out of the stable might be a little trickier, but-

He can do it. He must do it. He needs to see his brother, even if- no, especially if it’s for the last time. 

God, he hopes that won’t be the case.

* * *

 

“A whole day. I’m impressed!”

Sherlock sighs, wondering if he ever really thought he would manage to make it to the Castle without his husband catching up with him. Possibly, seeing he had some time advantage, but-

“You know you shouldn’t be riding. Dangerous for any potential pregnancy-”

“I rode for months while I was pregnant with my daughter” Sherlock interrupts him darkly, turning to glare at his husband. It seems the Duke has followed him without any sort of backup, which is quite curious and somewhat unnerving.

What is he planning?

“Regardless, I would be... pleased if you agreed to return without causing a fuss. We can take a carriage-”

“A carriage will take too long” the Prince argues, crossing his arms over his chest. “Time is something I don’t have.”

James tilts his head, watching him curiously. “Ah” he whispers after a while, letting out a dramatic sigh. “I did advise to wait a little longer.”

“I don’t care what you- How can you-” Sherlock looks away, knowing his emotions are getting the best of him. He’s angry and frustrated, there’s no denying that and although he would like to vent to someone…

James Moriarty is not the right person for that. “If you wish, you might come with me.” He says finally, “but I’m not going back. I’m going to visit my brother and you can’t stop me.”

“Can’t I?” the Alpha asks calmly, stepping closer. The Prince considers what are the chances of actually managing to outrun him and figures he could, for a while, but eventually…

Still, he isn’t coming back.

“Oh, alright then” the other finally says, his tone too light for Sherlock’s liking. “We’ll go to pay your family a little visit” he smirks cruelly. “Aren’t I such a considerate Mate?”

Still, neither makes a move, both assessing the situation. Sherlock bites his lip, hating the situation he’s in, but knowing there’s nothing he can currently do. Later, maybe, but for now… for now he must play the Game. For now, he must follow the rules.

But once he can make his own rules… he’ll make sure everyone will regret having put him through this.

“Shall we, then?” he asks calmly, getting on his horse once more, his appetite long gone. He had thought he had time to stop for a snack, but evidently, he had been wrong. Still, he supposes it doesn’t really matter.

His husband offers him another smirk, following quietly after him. The Prince can feel his companion’s eyes burning through him, but soldiers on, refusing the acknowledge him again. He has little time to waste and much to think about.

He can’t afford any distractions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not really sure about this one. There was one more scene I had planned, but once I started writing it felt… wrong, somehow. So I don’t know.  
> Let me know what you thought?   
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> So, thoughts anyone? The ring I’m talking about in the first part is a [Claddagh ring](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Claddagh_ring) , the history and meaning is quite interesting, I would reccomend reading it.  
> I hope it wasn’t confusing? These bits are meant to fit between the scenes we see in chapter 11, but I’m not sure if it turned a bit confusing… Also, I don’t know if it really fits with the main fic. Did it make sense? As for keeping the characters in character… well, I really don’t know anymore.  
> If you have any doubts, worries, questions, whatever rewarding what to expect in the next chapters, let me know. I try to tag accordingly, but I’ll admit I’m not very good at it.  
> Thanks for reading!


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